Caroline Anderson - A Man of Honour

Helen went into the staff cloakroom, unpinned her frilly cap and tucked a wisp of hair back into her bun. She was feeling harrowed—harrowed and emotionally drained.

Ross had spoken to Mrs Church and explained the full implications of her husband’s condition, and then left Helen to pick up the mess he left behind when he was called urgently to Theatre.

Tom stayed and talked to the Churches together once Mrs Church had settled down a little, and then Helen had given them a cup of tea and gone to see Judy Fulcher, the girl with the burst appendix who was down from Recovery.

She was doing reasonably well, nicely stable and not too nauseated, and Helen was happy that she was being nursed to her satisfaction. She had put Ruth on to special her as she had plenty of experience and was well aware of the implications of any possible change in her vital signs, but even so she had checked the chart herself, discussed her progress with Ruth and checked the flow of the drip and the suction drains from the stomach and the abdomen before she was happy to go off duty.

She was just coming out of the cloakroom when Tom walked through the double doors from the ward, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder, his car keys dangling from his hand.

‘Hi—off now?’ she asked him, and he nodded.

‘Ross implied that I should get some sleep while the going’s good—I think once I know where everything is and how it all works he’ll chuck all the notes at me and run!’

Helen laughed softly., ‘I doubt it, he’s very conscientious. How are the Churches?’

Tom’s face sobered. ‘Pretty grim. Mrs is certainly taking it hard. I think actually he’s known for ages that there was something pretty damn drastic wrong with him, so he isn’t really surprised, but she is.’

‘Yes, she seemed to be quite stunned. Is he going to have the op?’

Tom nodded. ‘Yes, I think so. He’s gone home for the night as planned, but I think he’ll be back tomorrow for surgery.’

‘Difficult start for you—I’m sorry.’

He threw her a quick grin. ‘Doesn’t matter when you start, Helen. It’s always difficult for someone. I suppose that’s why I’m here—to make it easier if I can’t take it away. That’s all any of us can do.’ He glanced at his watch, then back at her. ‘Got time for a cup of tea?’

‘In the canteen?’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘I was thinking of my room here—hospital tea is usually strong enough to stand a spoon up in, and I could do with something a little more subtle after all that coffee.’

She knew it was only a casual invitation and her reaction was probably foolish, but why not? She was tired and uptight, and anyway, she might find out something a little more personal about him.

Tea would be lovely,’ She said rashly.

They walked together through the sprawl of the hospital to the residents’ wing, and he opened his door and ushered her in with a flourish.

‘Welcome to Cell Block H.’

She looked round the small room, its cream walls chipped and bare, and chuckled. ‘It is pretty basic, isn’t it?’

His mouth quirked fleetingly. ‘It’s only temporary. I’m looking for something to buy—preferably something empty that I can move into quick! Park yourself if you can find anywhere.’

The only chair was stacked with books waiting to find a home, and a suitcase lay open on top of the chest of drawers.

Lacking any viable alternative, she sat on the end of the bed, her back against the wall, and watched him as he hung up his suit jacket on the back of the chair, tugged off his tie and rolled up his sleeves.

His jaw was deeply shadowed now, giving him a slightly rakish look and adding a dash of danger to an already very masculine man. Helen found it very unsettling, and she was deeply conscious of the nearness of his body and the intimacy of her surroundings.

Not that he did anything that could give her cause for concern—or at least not at first.

He plugged in a plastic jug kettle and flicked it on, then dropped on to the bed and shot her a grin. ‘Mind if I change out of this suit? I’ve been suffocating all day.’

She shook her head, her mouth suddenly dry, and looked away as the zip rasped down and he peeled off the trousers.

‘Now, the six-million-dollar question is, where are my jeans?’ he mumbled, and stood up to rummage through the suitcase.

She looked up and caught a glimpse of strong, straight thighs smothered in dark curls, so close that if she had lifted her hand she could have touched him. Her heart pounded and she felt the heavy, insistent beat of desire in her veins.

The threat was real now, close enough to touch, but it came, she realised, from within—which did nothing to diminish its impact on her starving senses.

Then his legs were plunged into battered old blue denim and he was turning towards her with a smile.

‘Milk or lemon?’

Oh.’ Lord her mind had deserted her in those few brief seconds. ‘Milk, please.’

He passed her a mug, and she cradled it in her hands and cast about for something sensible to say.

He spared her the trouble.

‘How long have you been here?’ he asked, propping himself up on the pillow and stretching his long legs down towards her—legs that were etched on her retinas and would trouble her sleep for weeks!

‘Four years. I came to the hospital as a staff nurse on the other surgical ward, and when Lizzi stopped work to have the baby I got her job.’

Tom blew on his tea, took a sip and sighed with satisfaction. ‘Better. So, are you happy here?’

‘Oh, yes—very. It’s a lovely hospital, and the staff are very friendly.’

‘They are, aren’t they? Ross seems really decent.’

‘He is. So’s Oliver Henderson. I’m very fortunate to be working with such reasonable people. The surgeon at my last hospital was a total pig.’

Tom chuckled. ‘I’ve worked with a few of them. Self-opinionated, over-blown stuffed shirts. Ross is a real breath of fresh air.’ He looked at her oddly. ‘And so are you.’ His smile was brief, his eyes strangely intense. ‘Thank you for making today so easy. I was dreading it.’

She was momentarily nonplussed. ‘You—you’re welcome,’ she stumbled, and found herself wondering if there would ever come a time when she could see him smile without turning to mush inside.

HELEN didn’t stay long. She found Tom’s presence altogether too disturbing in that little room, and after finishing her tea she made some excuse and fled.

During the course of that night she spent a great deal of time telling herself that her reaction to him was fifty per cent imagination and fifty per cent the result of her solitary and loveless existence. By the morning she almost believed it, but ten minutes on duty threw a hefty spanner in those works.

She was just welcoming a very subdued Ron Church to the ward and beginning the process of admitting him when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and Tom strolled into view, more casually dressed than the previous day in lightweight trousers and a white coat, and doing unspeakable things to her blood-pressure.

‘Morning, Sister, morning, Mr Church,’ he murmured, and with a fleeting smile he hitched one leg up and perched on the other side of the bed. ‘How are you feeling today?’ he asked the patient.

Mr Church sighed heavily. ‘Resigned—scared, a bit.’

Tom nodded. ‘Yes, it’s all a bit of an unknown quantity, isn’t it? Don’t worry. Let Sister Cooper get all the paperwork out of the way and I’ll come and have a long chat and see if I can set your mind at rest, all right?’

He moved away, going into the side-ward where Judy Fulcher had spent a fairly uncomfortable night following her burst appendix.